


Curtains and Nightmares

by ThatgirlnamedEleanor



Category: A Very Potter Musical
Genre: I hate my writing style, Living Together, M/M, Mostly Fluff, My first fic, Quirrell's already very much in love, Rated T for swearing, Rating Might Change, Sharing a Bed, Voldy's a bit of an oblivious idiot, avpm verse, very mild angst in places
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-30
Updated: 2015-04-22
Packaged: 2018-03-20 11:44:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3649083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatgirlnamedEleanor/pseuds/ThatgirlnamedEleanor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in the AVPM universe, two weeks after the end of AVPM. Since Voldemort almost died two weeks ago, he and Quirrell have been living together. Quirrell's already very much in love with Voldemort, but Voldemort's very oblivious (and a bit of an idiot). Can some curtains and nightmares make Voldemort see that his feelings for Quirrell are more than platonic?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Curtains

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfic ever, so i apologise if it's shit. Reviews/ comments would be very much appreciated! Hope you enjoy :)

“I refuse to live in a house where the colour scheme is anything other than green.” Voldemort snapped. They’d been having this debate for almost fifteen minutes now- at least, it would have been a debate had Quirrell actually contributed anything to the discussion other than “We’re not having green curtains in the living room,” and laughter. Voldemort really didn't see what was so funny- he just wanted to represent his Hogwarts house in the decor of his home. Even if it wasn't actually his home, he’d be living there, so shouldn't he have some say? 

Quirrell had been laughing for a good five minutes now, and though Voldemort was still really really pissed off and even though he was the one being laughed at, he had to admit that Quirrell’s laugh was almost… pretty. He liked making Quirrell laugh. However, he did not like him laughing in the middle of a muggle department store. He needed to put a stop to it- now!

“Quirrell, seriously, what is so funny?”

“You are!” Quirrell finally stopped laughing, only to start grinning at Voldemort in a way that made him feel like he was still being laughed at. “The Dark Lord, getting annoyed about the colour of some curtains.” His teasing grin softened until it was nothing but fondness, and though he did not look like himself (both of them were Polyjuiced as muggle men for safety, as if either of them were spotted, Azkaban- or worse- would not be far down the line), Voldemort could still clearly see Quirrell in the unfamiliar man’s eyes. Voldemort abruptly forgot all about the curtains, and the shop, and found himself smiling back, reminded once again of how lucky he was to have Quirrell as a best friend. 

Still, his stubbornness compelled him to carry on trying.

“But why can't we have green?”  
“Because it’s my house and no offence, but I don't like it.”  
Voldemort sighed, but his heart wasn't really in it. Quirrell’s smile had broken his determination… for now. “Fine.”  
“Look, the living room doesn’t actually need new curtains.”  
“Yes it does! The current ones are red! Red! Like a Gryffindor!”  
Quirrell- still smiling, though the soft fondness from before had for some reason been replaced by the original mischievous grin- just shook his head, as if to say “Wow, he seriously cares this much about this?” 

Unable to formulate a response that wouldn't make him look like even more of a whining child then he already was, Voldemort accepted defeat. “Lets just go home.” Voldemort quickly glanced around, making sure no muggles were watching, before taking Quirrell’s hand and Disapperating.

Home to them both now was a small two bedroom house in a muggle suburb that had apparently once belonged to Quirrell’s grandparents, before they died and left it to him. After Voldemort’s almost death and their joyful reunion two weeks ago, Quirrell had Apperated them straight to this house, and once they were there, Voldemort had fully expected Quirrell to tell him to go and find somewhere else to live. After all, Quirrell had been ridiculously kind to Voldemort whilst they were attached, more kind than anyone had ever been to him in his whole life, and how had Voldemort repaid him? By sending him to Azkaban and leaving him for Bellatrix Lestrange. Quirrell’s forgiveness and willingness to continue their friendship was already the most amazing thing that had ever happened to Voldemort without Quirrell letting Voldemort live with him, and he did not deserve it.

Their first week of living together had been interesting but wonderful, both of them still getting used to the other being an entirely separate person. They still liked to sit back to back occasionally, and bizarrely, Voldemort found himself not being able to sleep as well as he had back when they were attached, but other than that it was lovely to finally see Quirrell’s face properly. Almost everything was completely and utterly okay, a novel sensation for Voldemort, as he realised that he had never actually been completely okay up until then.

It was only now, at the end their second week of living together, that Voldemort began to find fault with their situation. There was the fact that they were living amongst muggles- not that there was anything they could do about that. After all, in the wizarding world Quirrell would likely be hexed or even killed on sight as people still believed him a murderer, and Voldemort was supposed to be dead. The whole thing where Voldemort had tried to take over the world had kind of ruined their chances of ever going back to the wizarding world unfortunately. Then there was the house itself. Not that he didn't love it- he really did! It was really just him being picky, and thought he knew he should stop, he just couldn’t. There was really only one major thing he disliked- that the colour scheme of the living room was red. He knew that it was a tiny, stupid thing but he couldn't let it go! He just wanted green curtains, why was that so funny to Quirrell? 

And so, that afternoon, Voldemort had dragged Quirrell out in search of curtains of a different colour. While the trip had proved fruitless on the curtains front, Voldemort had very much enjoyed seeing Quirrell laugh… As the dreaded red living room materialised around them, Voldemort decided that he could maybe tolerate the curtains a little while longer. 

As long as they went sometime.

xxXxx

“Well that was a waste of Polyjuice.” Quirrell said in mock anger as the unpleasant sensation of Apparition faded and the living room materialised around them. He forced himself to let go of Voldemort’s hand far earlier than he would have actually liked to, missing the sensation of Voldemort’s warm, soft skin the instant it disappeared. He wasn't actually angry of course- he didn't think he could ever be truly angry with Voldemort. Hell, if he could forgive Voldemort after he sent him to what was basically hell on earth, he could forgive him anything. 

“Tea?” Voldemort asked as he took off his cloak. Though never having even drunk tea before coming to live with Quirrell, after being taught the basics, Voldemort had proved himself to be very competent at making it.

“Yes please! I’ll go light the fire.” As he spelled the logs into a little stack in the middle of the fireplace, Quirrell tried not to let himself think about how…there really was no other word for it… domestic they had become in the space of just two short weeks of living together, and he especially did not let himself think about how that made him feel. Thoughts like that were dangerous- they had the potential to destroy their wonderful friendship, and Quirrell knew without a doubt that he would rather Avada Kedavra himself than see that happen. They were just friends, and no matter how much Quirrell might wish for more than that, they would have remain like that forever. The crushing pain Quirrell felt at this fact was almost too much to endure, but he knew he had to hide it from Voldemort. If Voldemort ever found out about his stupid little crush… well, it didn't bear thinking about. The terror he had felt earlier on in the shop, when he realised that he had started smiling at Voldemort like the smitten idiot he was, was alarming in its intensity. No, Voldemort could never know. Voldemort was straight (at least, Quirrell assumed he was. They’d never actually talked about that, but given that Voldemort had never shown any interest in a man and every interest in Bellatrix Lestrange, it seemed like a logical assumption) and so he could not love Quirrell back. And that was okay. Quirrell would rather die than force Voldemort into anything, and so he would have to be content with friendship. That was fine, except that it just hurt so fucking much…

Quirrell’s depressing train of thought was cut off by the odd sensation of the Polyjuice wearing off, and by the sound of Voldemort’s approaching footsteps. “Tea.” Voldemort said, smiling, as he presented Quirrell with a steaming mug. Quirrell accepted it gladly, and they both sat down on the sofa in front of the fire. 

“So, man, what movie are we going to watch tonight?” Voldemort asked. It had become a little tradition of theirs that, every night before bed, they would drink tea and watch a movie together.  
“I was thinking High School Musical; it’s basically the only Zefron movie we haven't seen yet.” Quirrell did not share Voldemort’s Zac Efron obsession (far too tanned for his taste) but he loved making Voldemort happy, and some of the movies had actually been good (Hairspray! was a particular favourite of his). Voldemort nodded in agreement and got up to put in the disc.

Before long, it was 11pm. The movie (so bad it was good) was over, the tea was long since drunk, and it was time for them to part. They said their goodnights, and as they walked away from each other, Quirrell tried his very best not to imagine an alternate universe in which they did not separate, and instead walked hand in hand to one shared bedroom… and failed miserably. He saw it all in perfect clarity, and his heart leapt at such a prospect, only to be crushed once more as he remembered that it could never be so. With his heart heavy, Quirrell curled up in his far too empty bed, and sank into oblivion.

xxXxx

In the other bedroom, Voldemort thought about how lucky he was to have Quirrell as a friend, and fell asleep with a smile on his face.

Only a hour later, Voldemort was abruptly jerked back into consciousness by a sound that rang throughout the house and replaced his blood with ice… 

xxXxx

Hope you enjoyed! Reviews/ comments would really be appreciated! TBC ;)


	2. Nightmares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glad you liked Chapter 1! Just to clarify, I have no beta or anything, so any spelling mistakes or plot holes or whatever are completely my fault. Hope you enjoy this one too! (And if you do, please tell me! I love to hear what people think of stuff I've done.) :)

Voldemort had enjoyed only an hour of sleep before a shrill, high pitched sound rang throughout the house, waking him. For a moment, he just lay there, still half asleep, wondering what it was… and then he realised, there was only one thing it could be- Quirrell was screaming!

Voldemort’s eyes flew open and in a matter of seconds he was up, out of his bed and running towards Quirrell’s room with his wand in his hand and ice and adrenaline in his veins. If someone was hurting Quirrell, if he was in any danger from anyone, Voldemort knew that he would murder that person on the spot. Quirrell was his best friend in the entire world, he was closer to him than he could ever recall being to another human being, and the thought of him being hurt any more was unthinkable. As he reached Quirrell’s door, he reached forward blindly- it was just past midnight and there no time to cast a Lumos- and wrenched the thing open.

Quirrell’s room was dark, but Voldemort could see at once that there were no evil figures looming over him, no one trying to kidnap him, no on trying to hurt him at all. Quirrell was instead alone in his room, screaming as he thrashed in his bed, eyes squeezed tightly shut and hands clenched in fists. He was having a nightmare.

Voldemort felt a rush of protectiveness for Quirrell and ran quickly to his side, shaking him awake gently so as not to scare him further. “Quirrell, man, it’s okay, you’re here with me, everything's fine,” he babbled, ignoring the very odd things his heart was currently doing- skipping beats and hammering along at breakneck speed. He reached down and squeezed Quirrell’s hand, his gentle touch finally waking him. Quirrell’s eyes were wide with fear and red with tears, but when the met Voldemort’s they visibly relaxed. Voldemort quickly cast a Lumos and they were both bathed in soft white light.

“Voldemort, you’re here!” Quirrell said, the relief audible in his voice as his expression changed from one of terror to a smile so wide and happy that he almost looked as if he was glowing. At Quirrell’s smile, Voldemort smiled too, and his tummy began to feel very odd. It was like nausea, but… a good nausea? More of a fluttering sensation really. He’d felt it around Quirrell before once or twice, but could not recall feeling it around anyone else. Maybe it was some sort of spell?

“Course I’m here man! I thought you were in danger! I was totally prepared to kill whoever it was.”

“Well, at least I wasn't in any real danger.” Quirrell said happily. Voldemort picked up on the ‘real’ instantly.

“Oh yeah, your nightmare! What was it about?” he asked, and instantly wished he hadn’t. Quirrell’s smile faded from his face and he looked sick, haunted even. As he spoke, his voice took on a flat tone and he began to stutter.

“It- it was like I was back in Azkaban. With the d- dementors. It was so realistic… it was cold and dark and I was so alone and I just felt so awful…” At Quirrell’s words, Voldemort felt a sharp twist of guilt and his heart began to ache, which was weird, because he normally felt no remorse for anything he did. He had killed so many people and never felt any remorse for those deaths, and yet now, when he thought properly about what he’d done to Quirrell… he felt like shit. He had done that, he had put the best person he knew in the worst place ever and now Quirrell was having fucking nightmares about it and it was all his fault. How could Quirrell still like him? How? He was quite clearly the worst person who had ever lived. He needed to make it up to Quirrell somehow, someday, but this late at night he couldn't think of anything. Right now all he wanted to do was make Quirrell feel better. But how? He didn't have any Dreamless Sleep potions and he couldn't get any either (they had to be prescribed by a Healer and he sure as hell couldn't just stroll into St Mungo’s). He could… stay with Quirrell for the rest of the night? No, he couldn’t, friends didn’t share beds, that was the sort of thing he did with Bellatrix back when they were together…though they hadn't exactly been together, had they? There was no love there, just fucking. Voldemort doubted that he could even feel love…

Quirrell tapped his arm to get back his attention, and Voldemort realised that he’d been staring off into space for the past minute or so. “Voldy, are you okay?” Voldemort grinned at the nickname, which was weird because he normally hated nicknames, and when Quirrell smiled back, that weird fluttery feeling in his tummy came back again! What was it?!

“I’m fine, Squirrel.” Voldemort reached down to squeeze Quirrell’s hand. “Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?”

“Nah, you've already done that just by being here. Go back to sleep. I’ll be fine.” Quirrell’s smile could have out-shone the sun.

For one tiny moment, Voldemort was tempted to stay there with Quirrell… but that vanished in a flash. Friends. Did. Not. Do. That! “Okay,” he said as he began to walk out. “Goodnight, Quirrell.” Voldemort took one last look at Quirrell’s brilliant smile before extinguishing his wand and walking out.

xxXxx

When he awoke the next morning, Voldemort immediately noticed that he felt… different about Quirrell. What it was, he couldn't put his finger on, but something had definitely changed. He felt more… protective of Quirrell, more… attached to him (no pun intended). Was this what friendship was? He’d thought that what he’d felt for Quirrell before was friendship, that warm sense of kinship, knowing that someone was there for you; all of those feelings were still there, only now there was an added closeness that he couldn't recall feeling towards another person before. There had to be an explanation. Was it the guilt he felt about the whole Azkaban thing? He really did feel awful about that, but he had a feeling that that wasn't it. Maybe... maybe they were best friends now? Yes, that could be it! Voldemort had never had a best friend before (hell, he’d never really had a normal friend before) so how was he supposed to know what that felt like? Were they best friends now? He’d have to ask Quirrell. On that note, Voldemort decided to get up, go downstairs and ask him. Quirrell knew about those sort of things; he was so nice, he must have had loads of friends at Hogwarts!

Quirrell was already up and watering the beloved flowers he had had planted in the tiny back garden of the house when Voldemort got downstairs. Voldemort immediately went to make tea, calling out a good morning to Quirrell as he went. Quirrell’s smile as he saw Voldemort was as bright as the sun currently shining through the hateful red curtains of the living room and, upon seeing it, Voldemort’s tummy started to feel that weird fluttery feeling again! What was it?! He would ask Quirrell, except… what if it wasn't normal to feel that way when you looked at your friend? What if it was a spell, or even an illness? Quirrell might get freaked out and leave him! No, best to stay silent on that front. The thought of Quirrell leaving him was almost too painful to contemplate. He would just ask Quirrell the question he came to ask and leave it at that.

“Good morning Voldemort!” Quirrell said brightly, reaching for one of the mugs of tea and then walking away to sit down on the annoyingly red sofa. Voldemort followed, doing his best to ignore the weird fluttery feeling which was only getting stronger by the minute.

“Hey Quirrell, I have a question to ask you.” He took a sip of his tea.

“What is it Voldemort? You can ask me anything!” Quirrell had this amazing ability of still being able to smile whilst drinking tea, and did so now. Voldemort quickly decided that seeing Quirrell smile was one of his favourite things ever.

“I was just wondering… are we best friends?” At Voldemort’s words, Quirrell began to look almost as though he was going to laugh at him and for one horrible moment, Voldemort wondered if he’d mis-read the signs and they weren’t even friends. Voldemort honestly wouldn't blame him if that was true- he had sent Quirrell to a place worse than hell that he was now having nightmares about- but it would hurt all the same.

Quirrell took a sip of his tea, and then said “Is that even a question? Of course we are!” 

Voldemort was so relieved that he almost wanted to get up and dance in celebration. That explained everything! It was just very strong friendship he was feeling! He smiled contentedly and sunk back into the sofa. For the next few minutes they sat in contented silence, sipping their tea. That was another thing Voldemort loved about being friends with Quirrell- there wasn't always pressure to talk when they were together. His eyes lazily gazed around the room… and suddenly his haze of contentment was broken as he remembered the fucking red curtains!

“Seriously, these curtains need to go.” he said, earning a laugh from Quirrell.

“Look,” he said, his eyes glittering with amusement, “I know you’re a Slytherin, and Slytherins feel the need to drape everything in sight in green and silver, but we are not having green curtains!”

“But they’re red, Quirrell! I live in a house covered in Gryffindor colours! What would you prefer, anyway? Yellow for fucking Hufflepuff?” He wasn't even really angry anymore, just stubborn as hell.

Quirrell looked confused. “I wasn't in Hufflepuff! I was in Ravenclaw! We’ve really never talked about this before?”

Voldemort realised that they genuinely never had talked about their Sorting before. “I don’t think so. So you were a Ravenclaw huh? Wouldn't have guessed it.”

“You don’t think I’m clever enough?” Quirrell said, mock- hurt.

“No way, of course you’re clever enough! It’s just, you're so kind and friendly, and you found me, and Hufflepuffs are particularly good finders, so I just assumed…”

“You think I’m kind and friendly?” Voldemort thought he was joking, but his slightly bemused smile seemed sincere. 

“Man… are you serious? You’re the nicest person I've ever met!” At Voldemort’s words, Quirrell blushed, and the weird fluttery feeling in Voldemort’s tummy suddenly turned into a hurricane. Surely it must be some sort of spell? He’d look it up next time he went to the library.

Quirrell’s expression was unreadable as he looked away and took another sip of his tea. Their conversation faded into a comfortable silence again, and during it, Voldemort pondered the reason behind Quirrell’s blush. Surely he knew how nice he was? Time to turn the conversation to a different topic, he thought, and quickly scrolled through the list of possible options. He could ask Quirrell about his flowers or something… but now they’d started talking about it he was curious about Quirrell’s Sorting…

“Hey Quirrell, what were you Sorted as by the scarf?”

At Voldemort’s words, Quirrell froze.

xxXxx

Again, really glad you enjoyed Chapter 1! Comments are very much appreciated, so if you have something to say, whatever it is, please say it! Obviously, TBC :)


	3. Lies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Easter everyone! I'm beginning to see that this is basically just turning into angst... sorry! I promise there will be some fluff in the future though. Anyway, if you enjoyed, please leave a comment to tell me! I'd really appreciate it :)

“Hey Quirrell, what were you Sorted as by the scarf?”

Voldemort’s words echoed through Quirrell’s head as his heart began to race. Oh shit oh shit oh shit. He really didn’t want to lie to Voldemort but he couldn't risk telling him the truth. Most people hadn’t exactly been accepting of his Sorting as “homosexual” back at Hogwarts, and though he really wished Voldemort would turn out to be one of the few who would, he couldn't risk it. He’d been happier than he could ever recall, living with Voldemort, and he really didn't want it to end. 

He cast his mind back briefly to his time at Hogwarts, a time that he’d both loved and loathed in equal measures. He had done fine in all his classes (far better than fine, in most cases) and loved learning new spells, potions, magical history, facts, anything really- he was one of those people who just adored the very act of learning. The happiness he’d felt in classes, however, contrasted sharply with the emotions he felt during his time outside of them. He’d had a few friends, but the rest of the students… He remembered the taunts, the names, how people would avoid him just because he was different- no! He wouldn’t allow himself to think back to those days, the memories were just too painful. He was here now, in the present, with a friend, and he was happy. That’s all that mattered.

“Squirrel, are you okay?” Voldemort’s words brought him back you the present. At the nickname he smiled warmly- he’d always loved it, having never been important enough to someone to have a nickname before. He looked over at Voldemort, who smiled back at him tentatively, as though he wasn’t sure if he was really okay… wow, he hadn't looked that sad had he? 

They smiled at each other for a tiny moment and in that moment, all of the sad memories vanished from Quirrell’s mind as he focused on how beautiful Voldemort was… fuck, he really was gorgeous. And witty. And clever. And kind (to him at least)… wizard god, he really did love him. Most people wouldn't think so, but to Quirrell, Voldemort was the most wonderful person on the planet. In that moment he was so tempted to kiss him that it was almost impossible to resist and he bit his lip as he thought about it…but he couldn’t. Voldemort would undoubtedly get angry and leave him which was bad enough, but worse than that was the fact that he’d be making Voldemort uncomfortable. He never wanted to do that in his life.

“I’m fine” he replied. 

Voldemort visibly relaxed. “Good. So… are you going to tell me what the scarf Sorted you as or not? You don’t have to if you don’t want to, by the way, I know that some people don’t like telling people. But seriously man, if you're worried about it, just know that whatever it is, I really don't mind.”

Quirrell wanted to tell him the truth. He really did. He wanted to tell him the truth so badly it hurt. But the risk was just too great. He’d known so many people back at Hogwarts who said it didn’t matter, but that once he’d told them he was gay had deserted him. He was almost certain that Voldemort wouldn't be one of those people… but there was still a chance he might. He couldn't risk that.

“Straight!” he said with a smile that was completely fake.

xxXxx

Voldemort almost regretted asking Quirrell about the scarf thing. For the rest of the morning he seemed…distant. Not to him, to him he was as happy as ever, but Voldemort noticed that when Quirrell thought he wasn't looking, he seemed sad. Had he lied about what he’d been sorted as? Quirrell almost never lied, at least to him. He was one of the most open, honest people Voldemort knew, and it didn't seem like the sort of thing he would do. 

However, if he had, it raised some worrying questions. Why would he think Voldemort would be bothered by his sexuality? Quirrell was his best friend, Voldemort would support him whatever it was! Didn’t Quirrell trust him? That hurt to think about, but it would be perfectly justified- Voldemort had betrayed him and sent him to Azkaban after all. He wouldn't blame Quirrell for not trusting him after that- hell, it was amazing that he even still liked him! 

There was one last question in Voldemort’s mind that was more confusing than either of the other two- why on earth did he feel slightly disappointed at Quirrell’s answer? That made no sense! Why would he want his friend not to be attracted to women? If he was telling the truth, there was nothing wrong with Quirrell being straight! He was straight… he assumed. His own Sorting had been complete bullshit. The scarf hadn't even given him a proper answer for wizard god’s sake! To this day he didn't truly know…

It was probably just because he didn’t like the thought of some woman taking Quirrell away from him. That was probably it. If Quirrell got a girlfriend (or worse, got married) Voldemort would be pushed out of Quirrell’s life forever. He certainly wouldn't be able to live with Quirrell anymore. Yes, that was probably it.  
(So why did it feel like that wasn’t it?!)

Voldemort shook his head. He’d think more about that later. Right now he had to work on cheering up Quirrell; he hated to see him upset. What would make him happy again? Cheering up people wasn’t exactly Voldemort’s strong point, he was far more used to making people distinctly unhappy. People were normally cheered up by stuff they liked, right? What did Quirrell like? He liked… Tea. Movies. Books. Flowers. And he liked him (he hoped). Wait, flowers… Quirrell was outside tending his flowers right now! He could go and help him! 

Voldemort put down the Daily Prophet he was reading and walked out the glass doors at the back of the red living room of death that lead to the small garden of their house. Outside it was a bright spring day, sunny and comfortably warm. Quirrell knelt in front of his flower patch, smiling contentedly as he used non verbal (they couldn't risk any muggles hearing) Aguamenti charms to water a cluster of frilly yellow flowers. Voldemort came and knelt down beside him.

“What are those called?” he asked. Quirrell clearly hadn't seen or heard him come over, as he jumped at his voice before breaking out into an adorably surprised smile. Wait… adorably? When had he ever described anyone as adorable?! It was true though. If anyone was adorable it was Quirrell. Voldemort thought he could look at Quirrell’s smile forever, it was so precious. Annoyingly, as Quirrell smiled at him, his tummy exploded into that weird fluttery feeling again! It was really starting to annoy him now. It must be a spell, surely, what else could be so strong?…

“Hey Voldemort! Didn’t see you there. They're called Daffodils! I thought they would be appropriate for spring, because they're so sunny and happy.”

Voldemort chuckled. “And you say you're not a Hufflepuff.” he said teasingly.

“Hey!” Quirrell exclaimed mock-angrily, nudging him playfully. Not one to be outdone, Voldemort nudged him right back. Quirrell’s eyes glittered with mischief and he nudged him with so much force that Voldemort fell backwards to lay on the soft grass. The fact that he had been pushed down by someone so much weaker than him was slightly embarrassing, however, he managed to retain a little of his dignity, as while he was falling he managed to grab Quirrell’s arm and pulled him down with him. The shock of the fall made them both burst out laughing and they lay there together in the sun, and Voldemort was happier than he had ever been before. If pre-Quirrell him could see him now… Before he met Quirrell, he’d been lost, lonely, hopeless, hollow. Quirrell had made him happier than he had ever been, and filled up that empty void within him. He’d made him a better person. 

Voldemort was struck by a need to thank him, for everything, but he wasn’t sure he had the words, so instead he took Quirrell’s hand and laced their fingers together. He wasn't sure why; it just felt right. Evidently, it was right, because Quirrell broke into one of his beautiful smiles that sent Voldemort’s insides fluttering (he really needed to get to the bottom of what that was) and turned his head to face Voldemort, who turned his head to match. As Voldemort looked directly into Quirrell’s (fucking gorgeous) eyes, there was scarcely centimetres between their faces, and Quirrell seemed intent on closing that gap as he leaned closer and Voldemort was’t sure what was going on but he wasn't about to stop it, and then… 

Quirrell abruptly turned his head away and got up, leaving Voldemort alone on the grass. “Hey man, where’re you going?” Voldemort called out, more than a little confused.

“Need to start on… dinner.” Quirrell called back vaguely, not looking back as he walked back through the glass doors into their living room.

Voldemort lay back down on the grass, one question running through his mind: what the fuck was that about???

xxXxx

Later, in the evening, Quirrell lay in his bed trying to read by wandlight, but he couldn't focus on any of Jane Austen’s words as his mind kept playing back his moment of utter stupidity earlier on in the garden. He had been about to kiss Voldemort. Voldemort, his straight best friend. Voldemort, who thought he was straight, thanks to his stupid lie that morning. He had only just come to his senses and stopped himself in time. He could only imaging how angry Voldemort would have been if had actually done it…

He didn't blame himself though. It had just been so lovely and perfect, laying in that garden with Voldemort, surrounded by flowers with sunlight streaming down on them. As he’d looked into Voldemort’s beautiful eyes, he just couldn't resist anymore. He wanted to kiss Voldemort so badly, even now, and tears stung his eyes as he remembered it could never be so.

Sighing, he placed his bookmark between the pages of his book, set the book down on his bedside table, extinguished his wand and tried to fall asleep.

xxXxx

Hope you guys enjoyed! (If you did, maybe leave me a comment telling me so? I’d really appreciate it). Obviously, TBC :)


	4. Realisation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Voldy, you really are an idiot... Warning, there's some spoilers for the ending of the book Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen (but come on, that book's been out since 1813!) Sorry I wasn't able to update sooner, had a busy few days. Also I felt this chapter was kind of rushed... but whatever, if you have anything to say about it please leave me a comment, i'd really appreciate it :)

Voldemort was still very confused as he lay in his bed that evening. Why had Quirrell acted so weirdly about what happened earlier on in the garden? It had been wonderful, perfect even. Laying in the sunshine with Quirrell had just felt so… right, somehow. At least, it had for the precious few moments they were laying down, before Quirrell had abruptly got up and left him. Why had Quirrell done that? Did he not like it? It hadn't seemed that way, considering that just before he left, Quirrell had begun to lean closer to Voldemort. Why would he do that, and then leave? That made no-

Voldemort’s train of thought was cut off by the same sound that had terrified him the night before- Quirrell was screaming again. At the horrific noise, Voldemort was hit with so many negative emotions- fear for Quirrell, guilt at the knowledge that he had caused this, sadness at the whole situation- at once that he almost felt sick. With a heavy heart, he quickly got up and jogged to Quirrell’s room, opened the door and ignited his wand. As expected, he saw Quirrell thrashing in his bed, no doubt the victim of some horrific nightmare or flashback to his time in Azkaban. He quickly rushed to Quirrell’s side and began gently awakening him. 

The way Quirrell’s terrified eyes relaxed as he awoke and saw him somehow made Voldemort feel even worse. He didn't feel worthy of Quirrell’s trust. He had betrayed him! He was the reason Quirrell was even having nightmares in the first place! It was all his fault!

“You’re blaming yourself again, aren’t you?” Quirrell’s words brought him rapidly tumbling back to earth.

“Of course I am, Squirrel! It was my fault!” Voldemort hated to make this about him, but Quirrell was just being so… hufflepuffish! He didn't deserve anywhere near the levels of loyalty and friendship Quirrell gave him. He was a shitty, shitty person. It was his fault.

“Well, maybe it was, a bit, but…” Quirrell hesitated, and then the corners of his mouth turned up in a tiny version of his usual glowing smile. It was far too adorable for words and Voldemort, of course, felt the usual lovely fluttering. He was almost getting used to it now. He had noticed, though, that as time went by it had started to feel… stronger. Deeper. He had no idea why that might be and now was not the time to figure it out. “Look, Voldemort… I forgave you! Please stop blaming yourself! You’re the most wonderful person I know, you don’t deserve this!”

Voldemort couldn't bring himself to argue, but he still felt terrible. “Okay… but, I at least want to do something for you now, man. I don't care what. If there’s anything I can do, anything at all, to make you sleep better tonight, then I want to do it.”

Quirrell thought for a moment. “Well, you could read to me for a bit…”

Voldemort felt, and must have looked, skeptical. “Read to you?”

“Yeah. Reading usually relaxes me and makes me sleepy, but tonight I couldn’t… concentrate…” The slight hesitation and the way Quirrell’s usually steady gaze darted away from him momentarily made Voldemort want to ask why he couldn’t concentrate, but he figured that would be an invasion of privacy. “I tried to start reading a book earlier tonight, but I couldn't concentrate. You could read a bit to me… if you want… I mean, I think it would help.”

“Okay.” Voldemort agreed, and begun scanning the room for Quirrell’s book, locating it quickly. He walked over to Quirrell’s bedside table and picked the book up. The soft light radiating from his wand revealed the title to be Pride and Prejudice, and at the author’s name, Voldemort chuckled.

“What?” Quirrell asked, looking adorably confused.

“Your obsession with Jane Austen! It’s funny.” Voldemort grinned mischievously.

To others, Quirrell might have looked as if he was really offended at Voldemort’s comment, but Voldemort knew him well enough to know he wasn’t really. “It’s not! She’s a great author!”

“You and your flowers, and your romance novels…”

“Says the guy whose favourite thing is dancing!”

They both stared at each other for a fraction of a second, and then, as if on cue, they both burst out laughing.

“So what’s this one about?” Voldemort asked after he’d recovered from his spontaneous laughter.

“Pride and Prejudice? I’ve read it before, loads of times, it’s one of my favourites. It’s about this girl named Lizzy who falls in love with this guy named Darcy-”

“I thought Darcy was a girl’s name.”

“It’s his surname, not his first name, shut up! Anyway, so Lizzy eventually falls in love with Darcy even though at the start of the novel she thinks she could never fall in love with him. It’s all about how even though they seem to be different as can be, they're actually really similar, and really good for each other. It’s lovely.”

“It sounds hufflepuffish.” Voldemort said, but as he said it, he opened up the book and quickly turned to page 1. “Do you want me to start from the beginning?”

“Yes please!” Quirrell said, sinking back into his pillows and smiling contentedly. He looked really comfy and for a moment Voldemort wished he could sit beside him in the bed… but no! Friends didn't do that sort of stuff! Instead, Voldemort decided to continue standing up. After all, he wouldn't be reading for too long, would he?

Voldemort moved his wand tip closer to the book in order to see the words better, located the first sentence, cleared his throat and began reading. “It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife. However little known the feelings or views of such a man may be on his first entering a neighbourhood, this truth is so well fixed in the minds of the surrounding families, that he is considered as the rightful property of some one or other of their daughters. Man, is this even written in English?”

“It’s old,” Quirrell replied. “Carry on reading!”

Voldemort sighed dramatically, but carried on reading anyway. As he read, something strange happened. He began to get used to the strange, old-fashioned phrasing, and almost began to enjoy it. He normally hated all forms of reading, but weirdly enough, he actually enjoyed the way the words flowed and how quickly things started happening (if there was one thing he hated more than books, it was books that started really slowly, and this was not one of those). Before he knew it, he had read one chapter. Then two. Then three. At least, he was almost reaching the end of the third chapter when he began to feel really, really tired, and decided to stop. He read the last few words of chapter three, and then looked over at Quirrell. He fully expected Quirrell to be asleep, so he was very surprised when he found him awake and watching him with a smile.

“I think i’ll stop now, Squirrel, if you don't mind. I’m really tired.”

“I’m surprised you read that much, actually. I thought you’d hate it.”

“It was actually okay. But, wait- how could Lizzy fall in love with Darcy? He was a complete shit to her in chapter three!”

“That’s the whole point of the book. He’s only horrible to people because he’s afraid to open up to them. Kinda like you actually.” Voldemort wished he could say that wasn’t true… but it was. Wow, he really was tired, he couldn’t even be bothered to argue! He really was… so tired…

“Voldemort, are you okay? You looked like you were about to fall asleep!” Quirrell’s words made him snap back awake and he realised that he had been about to fall asleep… standing up. He really needed to go to bed!

“I’m fine, just really tired…” For some reason, Quirrell’s bed was becoming more and more appealing as time passed. He wanted nothing more than to lie underneath the soft duvet and snuggle with his little squirrel. Had he not been so tired, that thought would have probably alarmed him, but right now it seemed to make perfect sense…

“Hey Voldemort, if you’re that tired, you could always, uh, sleep here, you know? Just for tonight. It would save you having to walk back to your room…”

Voldemort was not about to say no to that. He quickly saved the place in Quirrell’s book and put the book back on Quirrell’s bedside table, before almost burrowing under Quirrell’s gloriously soft duvet. The duvet was warm and smelt of Quirrell himself, which brought back a flood of memories of their time together in Hogwarts. He would have thought his first instinct would be to lie back-to-back with Quirrell, but bizarrely, it wasn’t. Instead, all he wanted to was cuddle up to him, so he did. He moved closer and closer before wrapping his arms around him gingerly- he didn't want to weird Quirrell out and he was well aware that this was not what friends did but right now he simply didn't care because Quirrell was so adorably tiny and warm and he was just so sleepy…

xxXxx

Voldemort was not surprised to wake up and find himself completely entangled with Quirrell- he remembered everything that had happened perfectly. He was surprised at two things, however- Quirrell’s reaction to it, and his own. When he had first woken up, Quirrell had too, and for a fraction of a second he had smiled and snuggled closer. After that fraction of a second had passed, however, he had suddenly turned bright red, got up and left, with no indication of why. It was just like that time in the garden, and just as confusing.

That was’t the main problem, however, and in truth, as he lay now in Quirrell’s bed alone, he was just thinking about it to distract himself from the main problem. The main problem was his own reaction. There was his emotional reaction first, and that was’t much of a problem because he had just felt ridiculously happy and as though his tummy had been filled with butterflies. It was mainly his physical reaction that he was worried about… because… well… he was hard. He’d only ever experienced that before after sleeping next to Bellatrix. Sleeping next to his straight best friend had made him hard. 

Before, that would have really worried him but he knew exactly why, now. He’d figured it out. He knew exactly why he’d been feeling so strange around Quirrell.

He was in love with him.

He supposed it was actually quite obvious really, what with all the butterflies and loving Quirrell’s smile and thinking he was adorable and how happy he made him feel and now this. He’d only not noticed it before because he had never really experienced love before. Now that he thought about it, he’d love nothing more than to kiss Quirrell. And to cuddle him. And to snuggle up to him on the sofa. And to hold hands with him when they went out. And other things too, things that were a little less innocent. Basically, he wanted to be Quirrell’s boyfriend. He wanted to so fucking badly.

But he couldn’t. Quirrell was straight. Actually, that was probably the reason why Quirrell had got up so fast and left him! Oh shit. He had completely fucked this one up. He had fallen in love with his straight best friend. Wonderful.

Voldemort lay there, realised that never do they would any of those couple-y things he was imagining, and felt his heart break. 

xxXxx

Hope you enjoyed (and yes, before anyone asks, that is the real opening paragraph of Pride and Prejudice. It’s one of my favourite books)! If you have anything to say about this fic, anything at all, please leave a comment, i’d really appreciate it. Obviously, TBC :)


	5. Truths

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! So this should be the penultimate chapter to this fic, unless I decide to add an epilogue or something. I do have a couple of other fics I'm thinking of writing, but those might not come very soon (I've just gone back to school, I have loads of shit to do, my parents are dicks etc.) I will try and get them to you asap, it just might take a while. Anyway, hope you enjoy this chapter! As usual, if you have anything to say about it PLEASE leave me a comment telling me, comments and feedback are what keep me going. Enjoy! :)

The morning after he’d stupidly invited Voldemort to sleep with him, Quirrell sat in the garden, tending to his flowers in the early morning sunshine. It was spring, and the air was warm, but with a slight icy edge to it, a leftover relic from winter. Flowers were so much simpler than people, he thought as he watered them. Their needs were simple, they didn't have any emotions… maybe he should just go live alone with the flowers! 

The second he thought that, he felt like a traitor. He could never leave this house, for starters- he’d promised his grandparents, when they left him the house, that he’d look after it. And he couldn’t leave Voldemort. He knew he was an idiot; first and foremost for letting himself fall in love with someone he obviously couldn't have, and secondly for letting this go on for so long. However many times he told himself it was time to let go, he just kept gripping on tighter. Asking Voldemort to sleep with him last night had been the most stupid thing he’d ever done, however nice it had been while it lasted. And it had been nice… he remembered how wonderfully warm it had been with Voldemort’s arms around him, how comforting it was to have him there again. It was like it had been back when they were attached, only a million times better. Of course, there was the slight problem that Voldemort… turned him on. A lot. When he’d woken up, he’d thought Voldemort wasn’t awake, and so he had instinctively moved closer, only to notice two things- that he was really hard, and that Voldemort was actually awake. Instantly, like the idiot he was, he had turned bright red and got up. 

If Voldemort had felt how hard he was… it was the end. Voldemort would know everything and their friendship would be over. If he told Voldemort the truth though, if he explained… no, it would ruin everything. The only thing he would let himself tell Voldemort was the truth about what the scarf had sorted him as. He hated lying, and he owed Voldemort that at least. Voldemort would accept him, he was sure of it.

Apart from that, his only choice now was to continue on with their friendship, always wanting what he could never have. He could do that, if only for Voldemort’s sake. It would hurt though… He tried to concentrate on his flowers as tears clouded his vision.

xxXxx

When Voldemort came down the stairs after finally getting up, he found Quirrell in the garden, exactly where he expected him to be. Smiling in spite of everything, he went to make tea for them both. He supposed in retrospect it was actually really obvious that he was in love with Quirrell. How he’d been oblivious to such a strong feeling, he would never know, but that’s the way it had been. He should probably have started to question his feelings from the moment he described Quirrell as his ‘home’… the smile slipped from his face. 

Fuck, Quirrell really was his home. He would never be able to give him up, as long as he lived, and now that he’d realised how he really felt about Quirrell, and that Quirrell almost definitely didn't feel that way about him… that would be torture! Always being so close to what he wanted, and never having it. That’s what he would have to do though, for Quirrell. Nothing was more important to him than Quirrell’s happiness, and if he had to put himself through hell to achieve that, he knew he would. There must be something he could do to make it better, though. He took a sip of his finished tea and tried to think. Maybe he should just tell Quirrell the truth? Or would that make everything worse? Fuck, he was bad at this. All this stupid emotional shit. Why did people even bother?

Just as he thought that, Quirrell came back into the house and smiled, and Voldemort instantly knew why people bothered. Quirrell really was beautiful when he smiled… wait though… why did he look secretly upset? Why did he look like he’d been crying???

“Squirrel, man, you okay?”

“Of course Voldemort, I’m fine! Did you make me any tea?” To anyone else, Quirrell would seem completely fine, but Voldemort knew him well enough to know that something was wrong.

“Are you sure? Whatever it is man, you can tell me. And yeah, I did” he gestured to Quirrell’s mug. At Voldemort’s words, Quirrell’s eyes met his, and Voldemort somehow sensed some deep emotion behind them. For a moment, he thought Quirrell was going to say something, but instead he grabbed his tea and took a sip, looking away. Voldemort sensed that there was something else Quirrell wanted to say, but he didn't ask- he didn't want to risk pushing him away. 

After a few moments of silence, Quirrell sighed, still looking away from him, his line of sight instead fixed upon the garden. “Voldemort, I haven't been… entirely honest with you.” he said in small, quiet tones that instantly communicated to Voldemort that he was nervous. He was getting good at this emotions thing!

“You can tell me anything, Squirrel. Anything at all.” he replied, and he meant it.

Quirrell bit his lip, and god was he adorable (and, now that he’d recognised it, ridiculously hot) when he did that. “Voldemort, I… lied to you.” Quirrell had lied? Wow! Voldemort didn't think he had it in him to lie! “I said that I was sorted as straight by the scarf. It was a lie.” It… was a lie? Quirrell wasn't straight?! Voldemort felt so many emotions at once that he was wasn't quite sure how to process any of it, so instead he chose to ignore it and focus on what Quirrell was saying.

“I’m… I’m actually gay.” Voldemort thought he was about to have a heart attack. He might actually have a chance with Quirrell! But… not necessarily. “Gay” wasn't a synonym for “in love with him”. And who would ever love him anyway? He was the Dark Lord. He’d killed people, thousands of them. He’d tried to kill a child twice. And he wasn't exactly attractive, was he? He was pale and creepy and looked like a snake. He didn't deserve anyone…

He realised that he’d been silent for a few moments, and that during that time Quirrell must have been shitting himself with fear. He’d just come out to him! “That’s completely fine!” Voldemort said hastily, overjoyed when Quirrell smiled in response. “Hell, I wasn’t sorted as “straight” either.”

Quirrell turned to face him with a strange expression on his face. “You… you weren’t?” Voldemort shook his head. 

“Nope, that shitty scarf didn't even give me a proper answer. I just got some bullshit about “undecided” or something…”

For some reason, at Voldemort’s words Quirrell smiled again, his beautiful, sunny smile, and fuck he was beautiful. In that moment, Voldemort rapidly forgot everything, forgot that Quirrell probably didn’t even like him and that he was probably ruining everything and that he was being a really shitty person for not even asking for consent first, because in that moment Quirrell was just too fucking beautiful and he couldn't resist anymore…

In a moment of madness (or possibly complete sanity), Voldemort did the unthinkable.

He kissed Quirrell.

xxXxx

I do love a good cliffhanger…  
TBC ;)


	6. Resolution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ;)

Quirrell was sure he was dreaming. How could he be awake, when Voldemort was kissing him? How could he possibly be awake when something so lovely was happening?! Happy endings only happened in story books and dreams, right?! 

Voldemort’s lips were soft and gentle (not something he would have expected from the self-proclaimed Dark King) and they tasted of tea and something uniquely Voldemort. They were unmoving though, which Quirrell would have loved to change, and would have done, if it wasn't for the fact that he wasn't quite sure what was happening right now and was terrified of doing anything wrong. It was so lovely though, like a dream come true. Better than a dream come true… 

After a bitterly short time, Voldemort pulled away and Quirrell tried to ignore the heart wrenching, sinking feeling in his stomach. He wasn’t sure what he expected Voldemort to say after that, but what he did say was definitely not it.

“Oh my god, Quirrell, man, I'm so sorry!”

“Sorry?” Quirrell’s head was spinning “Sorry for what?” 

“For taking advantage of you like that!”

“Taking advantage?”

“Yeah! I mean you obviously didn't want that so-“

“Obviously?!”

“…What?”

“What do you mean I obviously didn't want that?” Quirrell was shocked. Did Voldemort really not know how he felt about him?!

Voldemort looked almost shell-shocked. “Wait, man, are you saying that… you don't hate me now?”

Quirrell nearly laughed out loud from the sheer absurdity of the situation. Voldemort had kissed him, rather than the reverse, and now… Voldemort thought that he would hate him because of it?! He really had no idea, did he? “Voldemort… why on earth would I hate you?”

“B- because… I- I forced myself on you! You’re straight, you don't love me…” Voldemort paused and he looked as though his entire view of the world was changing… which, in all fairness, it probably was. Quirrell knew his certainly was.

“Of course I love you! I’ve been in love with you since… almost since I met you, you idiot!” Quirrell said it all without even really thinking. Well, shit. Now everything was really out in the open.

“I…” Whatever Voldemort was about to say was silenced abruptly as he paused, turned to face Quirrell, and the leaned in to kiss him again, this one harder, involving movement… and absolutely fucking incredible. Voldemort’s hand moved up to stroke his cheek and Quirrell’s own hand found its way to Voldemort’s hair, which his fingers quickly became entwined in. They kissed until they were both breathless and panting. 

Quirrell finally pulled away, stared into Voldemort’s (fucking incredible) eyes and smiled deeply. “So, I take it that you… like me too?”

“Like you? Squirrel, I’ve been in love with you for months!”

The strange mixture of ultimate happiness and shock in Voldemort’s eyes was perfectly mirrored in Quirrell’s. “Well… then… why didn't you tell me?” 

“I don’t know… I didn't even realise it until recently, and before I did you told me you were straight, so I thought I had no chance…”

“I thought I had no chance for the same reason!”

“Seriously?!”

“Yeah!”

Voldemort and Quirrell simultaneously burst out laughing, half from amusement and half from sheer happiness. It was one of those wonderful laughs where you end up crying with laughter, and since that wasn't something that normally happened to either of them, they took the opportunity to laugh for as long as possible, only stopping when their chests actually began to hurt.

xxXxx

“We… are absolute… idiots!” Quirrell said, out of breath. “I… can't believe… we both… thought… the other was straight!”

“Well… you did say it!” Tears streamed down Voldemort’s face. He couldn't remember ever crying with laughter before, but he thought it was definitely an experience he'd like to repeat sometime. “Wait… why did you say it?”

Quirrell’s face darkened a little. “I was…” he sighed, “I was worried you’d leave me…”

Voldemort reached over to hug Quirrell, who, at his touch, instantly snuggled closer. Voldemort felt his stomach explode into the now familiar flutters, and he looked down and met Quirrell’s eyes. “I promise, I will never, ever leave you.” he said, and he meant it. He knew then- and in fact, if he was honest with himself, he’d known it all along- he could never leave Quirrell, ever again, no matter what happened between them.

Quirrell smiled that amazing smile of his, and then laughed, shaking his head. “We really are idiots, aren't we?”

Voldemort nodded in agreement, and cuddled Quirrell closer. They sat in a blissful silence for a while, both elated and yet still slightly shocked about what had just happened. How much had changed in hardly any time at all? He had a boyfriend now, Voldemort realised with a jolt of happiness. How he’d managed that, when he was the freaking Dark Lord and plainly didn't deserve anyone, let alone Quirrell, who was clearly the loveliest human being to ever breathe, he would never know. But that didn't matter. He was just ridiculously happy… and he knew, somehow, that he would love Quirrell forever.

xxXxx

As they sat in silence together, Quirrell was so happy he thought his heart might burst. How could he be so lucky? What had he done to deserve something so wonderful? Voldemort loved him back! He wanted to jump for joy, but doing that would mean having to stop hugging his new boyfriend- the word made his heart leap with joy- and he didn't want to do that. He couldn't believe he had a boyfriend; all his life he’d been a loner, the only gay boy in his year at Hogwarts, picked on and made fun of until he thought no one would ever love him and he’d die alone… He wished he could travel back in time and tell his younger self about Voldemort- if he’d only known that one day he would find someone who he loved, and who loved him back, it would all have been so much easier to bear. But that didn't matter anymore, the past was the past, he was here now, in Voldemort’s arms, and he was happier than he’d ever been before.

They really had been idiots though, hadn't they? All that time wasted, dancing around each other, each thinking they had no chance with the other because they were somehow too blind to see what was right in front of them… Suddenly, a thought occurred to Quirrell, one he thought he should share with Voldemort as soon as possible.

“Hey Voldemort… we wasted a lot of time didn’t we?” 

“Yeah man, I know right! All those days since you were released from Azkaban, when we could’ve been together…”

Quirrell paused before replying, not used to being as bold as he would have to be to say what he was about to say. “Yeah, but I wasn’t just thinking about the days… I was thinking about the nights too.” He grinned teasingly.

Voldemort smirked and his eyes flashed with mischief. “My my Quirrell, and I thought you were the innocent one of us two!”

“People always tend to think that about you when you read a lot, I’ve found.” Quirrell reached out, only slightly hesitantly, and slowly stroked up and down Voldemort’s arm. It was only meant to be a joke, but somehow, it seemed to make them both realise all of the possibilities ahead of them… the room seemed to heat up a little and Quirrell blushed. 

Voldemort looked a little flustered. “You know, Quirrell… we don’t have to wait until the night.”

The words had scarcely come out of his mouth before Quirrell acted on desires he’d felt for months, and grabbed Voldemort and pulled him into a kiss far more rough than any they'd shared before. He kissed Voldemort until he couldn't breathe, and only then did he pull away. “About that, Voldemort,” he said, with a wicked glint in his eye, “Let’s not wait.”

And so, they began their life together. It wouldn't be perfect; nothing was. But it would be okay.

And okay was wonderful.

xxXxx

So… that’s the end of this fic! I’m definitely going to write some more of them though. I hope you didn't feel the ending was too rushed; I was going to write another chapter before this with more angsty pining, but I just couldn't be bothered in the end. Really really hope you enjoyed, please tell me what you thought about the fic as a whole if you’ve got time, and if you have any prompts or ideas for fics, PLEASE TELL ME! I really want to write more fics but I'm shit at coming up with ideas, so prompts would be helpful. Thanks for reading! :D:D:D


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